Page 18 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 18

P hoebe spent the better part of the morning rifling through her wardrobe, looking for the perfect dress to wear for tea in her own residence .

And then after that, she had spent the rest of the morning fretting over how to do her hair while Ella looked on with a hapless smile.

“I think I am going insane,” Phoebe groaned, burying her head in her arms on the vanity. “Tell me, Ella—you think I have lost my mind, do you not?”

“Of course not, Your Grace,” the maid replied quickly, hiding her smile behind her hand. “You are merely excited, that is all.”

“Excited?” Phoebe frowned.

Ella nodded enthusiastically. “Like a child on Christmas morning.”

“I was always well-behaved on Christmas morning,” Phoebe groused. “I did not tear into my presents either.”

At that point, the maid could not help but giggle as she ran a brush gently through her mistress’s tresses.

“The Marquess did lament the fact that you were much too well-behaved for a normal child, Your Grace,” Ella confided softly. “He feared that one day, the angels would come and whisk you off to join them.”

“He did?”

The maid nodded in affirmation. “Oh, yes. That was why he would sigh in relief on the rare occasions you were not so well-behaved.”

“Oh.”

Phoebe had never thought her papa would think that way, not when she had worked so hard to be the perfect daughter as a young girl, and when it was her time to make her bow, the perfect debutante. When the other ladies praised her mama for raising such a perfect young lady, she wore that badge with honor, even though her heart raged against the prison bars she had constructed for herself.

“So, you see, Your Grace, you need not worry so much,” Ella told her smilingly. “His Grace found you irresistible in your night rail with your hair undone. Surely, he would not be offended by an imperfect coiffure.”

Phoebe felt the blood rushing to her face. “So, you knew?” she muttered weakly.

The maid looked down to avoid meeting her gaze. “We were all elated for you, Your Grace. Morton declared it was high time His Grace did his husbandly duty.”

Except that Ethan had not, and not for lack of trying, no.

In any other household, servants talking about their masters would have warranted severe punishment. Phoebe, however, had always been of the mind that the servants always knew more than they let on, and if she wished to enjoy her days as a duchess in Sinclair Estate, then she should exercise a bit more leniency as the lady of the house.

Besides, how could she punish faithful servants who were only happy for her?

“The Duke might not be so happy to hear you talking of such things,” she reminded Ella quietly. “But I appreciate the thought, Ella. I truly do.”

The maid bit her lower lip and nodded as she continued to brush her hair. “Do you… not like the Duke, Your Grace?” she finally asked hesitantly.

Did not like him? Phoebe feared that she liked the man a little too much.

“It is not that I do not like him, Ella…”

“Does he not make you happy?”

“He does. It is just that…” she trailed off with a sigh.

It is just that he refuses to give his heart to me, even as I am prepared to give him all of mine .

“His Grace holds a deep affection for you, Your Grace,” Ella told her. “In my experience, men are rarely as patient with women as His Grace is with you.”

“He does not love me, Ella,” Phoebe told her bitterly. “He thinks love to be a destructive thing.”

“Is it not, though? Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but a great many have been destroyed by love or what appears like it.”

“What appears like it?” Phoebe paused, and then her eyes widened as she recalled Ethan’s words from last night.

“What my father did to my mother and I, thinking he owned us…”

His father’s version of ‘love’ had been the only one Ethan had ever witnessed in his youth, and in turn, it had warped his understanding of it. Only, it had not really been love but an obsession driven by the need to possess and subjugate.

But Ethan was none of those things. Phoebe had told him as much last night, but these were demons that had clung to his soul for so long.

How was she to show him just how beautiful true love could be when she had not even experienced it for herself?

And would she be enough to heal the wounds that his father had inflicted on him as a child?

Ethan arrived at Sinclair Estate a little earlier to hand over the box of bonbons to Morton.

“Have these served at tea with the Duchess later,” he instructed the butler.

“Right away, Your Grace.”

“And have the servants set everything up in the gazebo outside,” he added. “The weather is glorious. It would be a shame to waste all this sunshine by hiding away indoors.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

Morton did not need to know that his master liked watching the sunlight glance off Phoebe’s golden curls, nor did he need to know how it made the golden flecks in her eyes shimmer like fairy dust.

He just needed to put the damned bonbons on the tea table.

“Is the Duchess in the parlor?” Ethan asked.

The butler shook his head. “Miss Ella told me that she and Her Grace will be in the Duchess’s rooms, getting ready. They have yet to emerge.”

Ethan smiled, pleased that he had not been the only one fussing over his appearance with Huxley earlier. It was just that Phoebe was mistaken on one thing—no matter what dress she put on or how she wore her hair, he would always prefer the sight of her naked, her golden curls spread across his pillow…

He groaned and resisted the urge to slap himself.

Focus , he reminded himself, desperately trying to put the thought of her naked on his bed out of his mind.

If he failed, then he might very well have to kiss that fantasy goodbye forever .

“Your Grace?”

The soft voice seemed to draw on all the pent-up desire he had been holding in for the better part of the day.

He turned around and found Phoebe standing at the foot of the staircase, her luscious curves encased in a lovely dress the color of pale buttercups in the morning sunlight. Her hair had been pulled back and held with a few simple pins, but the rest of her golden waves cascaded past her shoulders down to her back.

She was breathtakingly beautiful. How the hell was he supposed to keep his sanity intact with her looking like that?

“Wife.” He regarded her with a teasing smile as he reached for her hand and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to it. “Do you intend to serve yourself for tea?”

Her eyes narrowed quickly. “You wish!”

He laughed and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Well, a man can dream.” He paused and then frowned. “On second thought, they better not. Only I can dream of you.”

There they were again—those strange, possessive tendencies.

Ethan quickly pushed away those dark thoughts, focusing on the radiance of the woman beside him. He smiled at her as he led her out the doors to where the afternoon sunlight spilled golden onto the gardens.

Phoebe looked up at him in confusion. “I thought we were having tea in the parlor.”

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “How dreadfully boring. Do you not think it more romantic to have tea with the flowers blooming all around us?”

She smiled up at him. A good sign, he believed.

“I did not think you given to romance, husband,” she teased him. “What has brought on this un-Wolfish behavior?”

“Well, a certain duchess, if you must know.” He chuckled.

He led her to the gazebo, where the servants were laying out plates and pastries, as well as the bonbons he had brought earlier. At the sight of the familiar, delicately colored pastries, her eyes lit up.

“You brought me bonbons?” she asked him excitedly. “How did you know?”

“Trade secrets,” he told her with a mischievous waggle of his eyebrows.

Trade secrets named Alice Barkley Fitzroy, in particular.

He led her to her seat and pushed it in, pausing to brush a lock of hair from her shoulder and breathe in that soft, feminine fragrance that was distinctly her.

“You must forgive me,” he told her huskily. “I could not resist.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath as she nodded shakily. “You will be forgiven once you have taken your seat and I am allowed to have my bonbons.”

He shook his head and sighed. “Do the bonbons matter to you more than your husband?”

“Certainly not.”

His heart soared at her words.

And then, his mouth went dry when she reached for a bonbon and popped it delicately into her mouth.

Damn, if it wasn’t the most seductive thing he had ever seen in his entire life!

“If my husband can bring me more of these, then I should look on him more favorably.” She grinned at him.

He laughed and shook his head. “It is my great fortune to have married an extremely smart woman.”

“And I have married a man with a silver tongue.”

He smiled wickedly at her. “My tongue can do so much more, Duchess.”

She turned a lively shade of pink and glared at him. “Is that all you think about?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh, wonderful.”

“But it is just one of a great many fantasies of mine,” he added.

He did not think it possible, but she turned an even livelier shade of red .

“You truly are a rogue,” she grumbled. “You cannot even let me enjoy these bonbons in peace.”

He chuckled and poured himself some tea if only to relieve the dryness in his mouth. Teasing her had a rather strange effect on him, further bolstering the hardness between his legs.

“Forgive me, Duchess. Old habits die hard.”

“Well, you should restrain your… urges ,” she told him primly. “This is hardly an appropriate time.”

And what would you say would be an appropriate time?

For Ethan, he could devour her morning, noon, and night, and he would probably still not be satisfied.

But he dared not say the words and cause her even more discomfort. She was right—there would be another time for that.

“I finished reading your book last night,” he said instead.

It was not a lie—it made for good reading when one was suffering from intense arousal and doing his best to understand his wife better.

“And how did you find it?” she asked him.

“Like I told you last night, the concept is most certainly interesting,” he said. “It is rather provocative, but you tell the story in such a way that brings your characters to life. You have a gift with words, my Duchess.”

In the light of the warm afternoon sunshine, Phoebe seemed to glow, her cheeks turning a delicate pink, her eyes shining with unabashed delight.

“You truly think so?” she said breathlessly. “You are not just humoring me, are you?”

“I do not make jokes when it comes to my favorite books,” he told her softly.

Her eyes lit up even brighter, if it was at all possible, and Ethan found himself struck by their sheer brilliance.

“Your favorite book?” She laughed. “Now I know you are truly humoring me.”

“No,” he said. “In fact, I meant to ask you this today—have you considered writing another one?”

He heard her sharp gasp of surprise. “You want me to write another book?”

“Why not?” He grinned at her. “Why stop at only one book? Are there not four Wolves?”

“Y-yes,” she said shakily. “But four books?”

“I believe that you are more than capable of doing that, Duchess,” he told her. “Four books. Five books. An entire shelf of them. You can write all you want.”

She shook her head. “You do not find it, well, scandalous that your wife is writing and making money out of it?”

“The only scandalous thing,” he said with a wry smile, “is that my wife chose another publisher for her books when she could have chosen mine .”

“Chose another publisher?” Phoebe squeaked before bursting into laughter. “You cannot be jealous about that as well, Ethan!”

“Oh, very jealous indeed, wife,” he told her in a serious tone. “So jealous that I could not stand it and?—”

“Oh no!” she groaned. “You did not have the poor business closed, did you?”

He looked at her with mock hurt. “Do you truly think me so cruel, Duchess? No, I did not have the man’s business closed—I bought it.”

She gaped at him, speechless in her shock, so he continued gently. “I want books with your name on them all over London and the rest of England, and I will do anything to fulfill your heart’s desire to write.”

“You do?”

He nodded and leaned in to brush that stubborn, wayward curl from her cheek.

“So, write all you want, Phoebe,” he murmured huskily. “This husband of yours will make sure you never run out of pages for it.”

And then, she did the most astonishing thing.

Phoebe leaned in and kissed him. Out there, in the open gazebo, with the sunlight streaming around them, and her hair shining fierce and golden.

And Ethan smiled as he kissed her back.

He was right—it truly was a glorious day for tea.